Interlude at Daggerford
by JKatrin
Summary: Sometimes adventurers are their own worst enemies. Written in tandem with my fellow playerauthor, Brin Londo 5.


**Interlude at Daggerford**

_A/N: I really hope you have as much fun reading this as we had writing it. Now, the disclaimer: I do not own any of the D&D settings, including the Forgotten Realms where this piece is set. Sendar and Summer ar creations of my own; Keldar is Brin's, and Illeania was Crystal's._**  
**

Father Sendar stood with his arms folded across the chest of his saffron yellow robes, tapping his foot as he glared sternly at the young woman before him. The acolyte's clothing was mussed and dirty from the previous night, her mouse-brown hair had escaped from its sensible plaits to straggle in her eyes, her lip was split, and her left eye was bruised and swollen.

Beside her stood a young half-elf, a rangy, muscular fellow in much the same shape—except that instead of mutinous, his expression was tragic. A goodly amount of red wine had turned the front of his shirt purple, the laces of his boots were untied, and blood had crusted in his hair from the laceration on his scalp.

"Now," said Father Sendar, and his voice was that of a father toward his erring offspring, "suppose you tell me what happened last night."

"It was all _his_ fault!"

"It was all _her_ fault!"

The answers came simultaneously as the two miscreants pointed and glared at each other. Sendar closed his eyes and wished for a moment's grace. When he opened them again, his voice was edged with ice.

"I might have expected this sort of behavior from a barbarian," he said, indicating the half-elf. "But surely I had a right to expect better from an acolyte of my own church!"

The girl shrank a little under his angry gaze, and Father Sendar continued. "Now, I want you to tell me _exactly_ how you managed to incite a riot, cause nearly a hundred shards of damage to a tavern, and end up spending the night _in jail_!"

It took the girl a couple of tries to clear her throat sufficiently to speak. "Yes, sir," she whispered finally. "You see, after what happened when we returned with the box, we just wanted to relax a little. So we agreed to have drink…"

The tavern was lit well enough to see the pips on a die, but dim enough to reassure a thief. It felt good to be without her scale mail for a while, and Summer sighed in relief as she slid into a seat and settled her purse at her waist, under her shirt where it was a less obvious target. Keldar took the seat across the table from Summer, hollering for mead, and the elf sorceress Illeania sat between them.

The barmaid, a slightly worn and harried young woman, brought Keldar's mead, rolled her eyes at his leering proposition, and acknowledged Summer's and Illeania's request for ale and wine with a nod of her head. A few minutes later she delivered the women's drinks along with cold bread and butter and dish of some sort of fowl baked with onions and potatoes. The three inhaled the aroma greedily and fell to. Keldar ignored the vegetables but ate hugely of the bird, Illeania contented herself with potatoes, gravy, and few slivers of the breast, and Summer ate a little bit of everything.

By unspoken agreement, they avoided speaking of the last few days until the platter was empty, their stomachs were full, and their mugs had been refilled several times. But when even Keldar had pushed aside his trencher with a contented belch, Summer cleared her throat and looked shyly at the other two.

"Umm…this meal's on me…because I just wanted to say thank you. I couldn't have done it without both of you."

She raised her mug to Illeania, smiling crookedly as the ale began to hit her. "You…are one dem' fine archer, m'lady. And one dem' fine spellcaster." She turned to Keldar. "And you…" She searched her muddled brain for something to say. "Well, without yer rampant disregard f'r the cons…the cones…the _results_ 'f yer actions…I wouldna' had the chance to practice m' healing spells."

Keldar grinned back at the cleric. "Nyet, zhou should have practiced them on zhourself," he said congenially. "Elf lady here had ta help zhou into the saddle."

But Summer shook her head, suddenly serious. "Nope," she said. "Used m' last one on you. Woulda' died, elsewise."

"Nah, just knocked th' wind out of me, ja?" the Narfell warrior asked, raising an eyebrow. "Da skeleton knocked meself cold, ja?"

Again, Summer shook her head. "M' a healer," she insisted. "'Twas the grace of th' Mornin' Lord what saved ye."

"Huh? Speak common, lass?"

The cleric thumped her empty mug on the table in frustration. "That skeleton _ran ye through_," she said. "Ye weren't breathing, yer heart had stopped. It was a mortal wound ye took, ye daft barbarian!"

Suddenly, Keldar went coldly serious. "What… did zhou do… with zhour _heathen magics_?"

"WHAT HAVE ZHOU DONE?" He shouted, standing so quickly the bench underneath him overturned.

(The bard in the corner put the pipes away and began strumming a lute. "There's no time for us, there's no place for us; what is this thing that builds our dreams yet slips away from us?"

A shaven headed, dark skinned warrior looked at the blond bard and quietly said, "Elan, for the love of the gods, shut up!")

Summer's jaw dropped at Keldar's reaction. "What d'ye mean, 'what have I done?' I saved yer life!"

"ZHOU'VE CURSED ME! Th' Norns give every man a time an' a place to die, it's not our place to deny that! If zhou did what zhou said, an' I'm still here, past me time, I'll be here forever! I CANNA DIE NOW, woman! Zhou' ve made me immortal with zhour meddling!"

("Who wants to live forever? Who dare to-" whack!

"Damnit, Elan, I said cut that out!")

"Of all th' ungrateful bastards!" Summer had just about had it with mysterious quests, meddling gods, and "chosen one" prophecies. She stood up, knocking over her own bench in the process, and Illeania had the presence of mind to grab her wine and back well away from the gathering storm. "Heathen magician, am I? Immortal, are ye? LET'S FIND OUT!"

The barmaid squeaked and whirled out of the way as Summer grabbed the full pitcher from her tray and brought it down on Keldar's head. The clay shattered, showering the half-elf with cheap wine.

"THAT'S IT!" He yelled, intending to haul the girl across his knee for a proper spanking, only to have some well-meaning (but oh-so-misguided) interloper grab his shoulder from behind, spin him around, and lay a right cross to Keldar's jaw.

Then, all havoc broke loose, as Keldar's sight went red.

Father Sendar again prayed for grace as Summer's recital wound down. Looking at the two young people before him, one sullen, one distressed, and both of them suffering the effects of a hung-over night in jail, he abruptly decided that there was very little he could do to punish them further.

"Acolyte Summer," he said quietly but firmly, "perhaps in the future it would be wise of you to inquire into the religious practices of those you decide to travel with, to forestall any more such…incidents."

Then he turned to Keldar. "And as for you, while you did take what would have been a mortal wound, you were not, technically, dead. Summer is not yet powerful enough to have raised or resurrected you. She merely healed you—which could have been done even without magic, though you would have been bedridden at least two tendays."

The barbarian's face brightened. "Then…I am _not_ cursed? I can join my ancestors?"

Sendar stifled a smile. "Yes, in the proper time." His duty complete, the priest turned away, trying not to laugh as he heard Keldar's suggestion to Summer.

"Good. Now let's go 'beat the crap' out of that bard."


End file.
